


Sincerely Yours

by Joana789



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Even's POV, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insight, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Recreational Drug Use, Season/Series 03, Translation Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 23:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8943277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joana789/pseuds/Joana789
Summary: Sometimes, Even’s mind feels like a mess, and it seems like no one in the world can sort it out, especially not Even himself.But there are no rules, with Isak.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Translation into 中文 available [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9038501) and [here](http://estrella1127.lofter.com/post/42688b_d69caac) by [ikerestrella](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ikerestrella/pseuds/ikerestrella)
> 
>  
> 
> I am sorry if this is shitty. I haven't written anything in a while. But damn... "Skam"... you know what I mean.

 

Sometimes, Even’s mind feels like a mess, and it seems like no one in the world can sort it out — everything that hides in his head — and especially not Even himself.

It’s a disturbing statement.

  
———

  
It hasn’t always been like this, with Sonja.

They used to be in love, at one point, and Even remembers that, although not as vividly as he’d thought he would. They’ve known each other for years and years, back when he was much shorter and she didn’t know how to use makeup yet, two kids who just happened to stumble into one another. Sonja knows him through and through and at times, it feels as though she knows him better than Even knows himself, as though she has him memorized and figured out, broken down into individual parts — there’s his childhood, his previous school and his current one, friends that come and go, parents, his dreams and fears and everything else that makes him up.

Even Bech Næsheim is a sum of random factors.

Except that he’s not.

And he wishes he could pinpoint the exact moment it started to bother him — the way Sonja sees him now, wishes he could go back to some particular memory and say, _this is where it all_ _started to break_ , but it doesn’t work that way.

He’s lost track of what’s been happening, maybe. Perhaps Sonja has, too.

He wonders why, but can’t really find an answer. Maybe they’ve been together for too long already, even though relationships are not supposed to have an expiry date, from all he’s known. Maybe she’s focused too much on being his carer, at some point, rather than simply being his partner. Maybe this is how she decided to deal with responsibility.

Sonja is not a bad person — she’s safe and patient and protective; there was a time when her constant attention felt comforting, like an anchor that kept him in one place and never let him drift away too far, but now — now it feels like too much, like she’s always watching, always controlling him and this, Even has realized a while ago already, is not gonna work in the long run.

He feels like he’s _suffocating_.

  
———

  
And then there’s this guy.

Even first sees him during his first day of school and it’s — it’s a little like a scene from a script. A bit surreal, and brief, too, but the moment feels longer than it really is. There’s a boy walking across the schoolyard, one of many people there, but once Even’s gaze lands on him, it follows.

He’s tall and slim, all relaxed pace and hands in his pockets. His hair is a little messy, blonde, more fair than dark but still both at once, and there’s something about his profile, his eyes or the curve of his lips that makes Even afraid, ridiculously so, that if he blinks, the boy will vanish.

The time slows down and then speeds up again.

The boy doesn’t vanish. He smiles instead, at someone in the crowd, an anonymous, irrelevant person — and it’s a light smile, one that is more a barely-there curve than anything else — and then turns, enters the school.

Even watches him go.

(Isak Valtersen is his name, he will learn later.)

  
———

  
It’s so strange, how he’s always aware of this guy, even when he doesn’t really mean to.

They brush shoulders in hallways once or twice. Stand in the same queue in the cafeteria. He is the boy at the table across from his, the boy Even passes by when he leaves the school on a Friday, the boy who immediately looks down when Even catches his gaze, once, in the courtyard.

He’s also the boy from this strange Kosegruppa meeting that Even hoped would show up and who also somehow manages to sneak out halfway through; the one Even steals glances at in the bathroom mirror, and who smokes on the bench beside him, later, breathes it out into the cold air of the night, sitting so close their arms are almost touching.

Isak Valtersen has a group of friends that barely ever leave him on his own, has a phone that’s always buzzing with new messages coming, has a clear, nice voice and a great love for snapbacks and eyes that look light and dark and everything in between and a smile that draws attention, and Even notices it all.

  
———

  
Later, they’re sitting by the window at Even’s place, cool breeze coming in and mixing with the air inside and Even takes a drag of his joint, thinking, _I could do this every day._

It’s easy to make Isak laugh when it’s only the two of them and no one else around, and the way he acts is different, somehow, less tense. Even takes in the sight of him — his posture, his lips, the sharp line of his jaw — and lets himself look just a second too long because there’s a feeling behind his sternum that he barely recognizes and still cannot quite put a name to it.

 _What are you doing_ , he asks himself, but then pushes the question to the back of his mind.

  
———

  
There are no rules, with Isak.

And Even’s not used to that. There’s barely anything but rules when he’s with Sonja, it’s all _don’t do that_ and _don’t say that_ and _stop acting this way_ and he thought that maybe if he tried hard enough, he could get used to it, but then Isak comes into the picture.

It all happens fast, so fast.

And Isak kisses Emma while looking him straight in the eye, then pretends he doesn’t know him when they pass each other by in the corridor, follows Even with his gaze in the schoolyard and pushes him into the pool for making fun of him and then —

And when Even kisses him, Isak answers, and it sends a shiver down his spine and makes the spark inside his chest turn into fire, an electric, urgent feeling, and Isak’s fingers burn where he grips Even’s forearms and his lips burn against his own.

There’s something Even knows, and he thinks Isak knows that, too — it will leave imprints, this moment.

  
———

  
The inside of Isak’s room feels like a different reality. Isak’s mouth against Even’s own feels like a different reality. Isak’s soft touch does, too, and his warmth, the way his voice sounds, muffled by Even’s clothes because that’s how close they are, pressed together.

Isak talks about parallel universes and everything Even feels is as if he was in one of them this very moment.

This doesn’t feel real.

Not when Isak makes him feel so at peace. Not when his bones don’t feel heavy with weariness, for once, but with serenity instead. Not when he feels so grounded, in the middle — him, who’s always on one end or the other, a flickering, precarious person, never really in between, no matter what he does and how hard he tries.

And yet, the world feels steadier here, solid and sure, with Isak’s lips pressed against Even’s skin.

This doesn’t feel real and is the most real thing he’s ever had and Even thinks it might be a problem.

There’s a brief moment — somewhere between one kiss and the next, between their words, and their laughter, and their fingers laced together — when Even tries to imagine a place, a parallel universe, in which he tells Isak. Where Isak knows. Where the words _I’m bipolar_ leave his mouth and the world doesn’t crumble around him, a world where he can stay like this, in this room, on this bed, with this beautiful boy pressed against him and it’s okay that his brain gets so fucking messed up at times.

He tries to imagine and can’t.

That’s scary.

In all the universes, he wants to tell Isak for a split second but the words never leave his mouth, in all the universes I’m alone, just me and my thoughts and my fucked up brain. That’s how it is.

”Can’t I just stay in here with you forever?” he says instead, and Isak smiles at him, a gentle, gentle smile from the softest boy on Earth.

He says, ”You can,” and relaxes against him because doesn’t staying mean safety and comfort and being together with someone who makes the world settle back into place in the best way possible?

 _When was the last time you had that_ , Even asks himself and wonders, tracing shapes and patterns into Isak’s skin with his fingertips, and the answer is never, but he doesn’t say that out loud.

  
———

  
Sonja tells him, ”Stop it, Even,” like she always does. She says, ”This boy has no idea what’s going on,” and ”Do you know what you’re doing?” and ”He’s just some kid,” and ”Isak’s going to find out sooner or later.”

Even doesn’t like the way she pronounces his name, for some reason.

And she’s probably right because Sonja’s always right; she knows him too well. Everything she says it true, and it’s so weird, how level-headed she can be, even when her lips are pressed into a tight line and eyes are glassy and she kind of looks like she’s not taking him seriously, not entirely, like she thinks it’s just another idea that popped up in his head.

But it’s not, and he can’t do this anymore, now he knows, and Sonja deserves more than lies and worries and declined calls.

They had their time.

  
———

  
And Even would never admit, but when the world tips, eventually, he is not ready for it.

He comes to Isak to say, ”Sonja and I are no longer a thing,” or to say, ”I’m sorry I left you like that,” or to say, ”There’s something you should know,” but somehow, he barely says anything at all.

Isak talks, though. He says more than enough.

And it feels like a punch, at first; Even has to turn his gaze away from Isak’s face to form a proper response, because he can’t — can’t think of anything, can’t take a proper breath. He is a fairly good liar when he tries hard enough and he knows that nothing shows on his face or in his posture because when he looks back up at this beautiful, clueless boy in front of him, nothing changes.

Even kisses him, so, so briefly it’s barely anything more than lips pressed together, but the touch burns nevertheless.

The stir of emotions is so intense it almost threatens to crack his chest open.

Because Isak doesn’t want mentally ill people in his life. So Even goes.

  
———

  
Later, at night, when he’s in his own bed and alone and all the doors are closed and curtains drawn, he tries the words out, just so.

It’s not the first time he says them out loud, but Even doesn’t think the sentences have ever felt so bitter before, so heavy on his tongue, so unfamiliar in his mouth. He wishes he was speaking about someone else, a stranger on the street, a character from a book. He wishes he was reading a script.

”I’m bipolar,” he whispers into the space of his room, and then tries again. ”I have a mental illness.”

And the words fall and dissolve and it’s not a script, so nobody answers.

  
———

  
Avoiding Isak is unpleasantly easy.

It _is_ a conscious effort — Even has to make himself stop looking for blonde hair or a snapback in the crowds, turn his gaze away whenever one of Isak’s friends is near, choose a different route home once or twice — but it’s easy, in a way. Easier than trying to capture his attention was, at least, because, if he tries hard enough, he actually manages to imagine that nothing ever happened. That he’s back in the square one, that it’s the first day of school all over again and he never met Isak Valtersen, never sent him this stupid text, never said, ” _things have been moving too fast_.”

But it’s all a fucking lie because things did happen.

And now Even knows — that Isak always waits for Even to make the first move and kisses carefully and cautiously and a little as if he was afraid; now, he remembers the bite of Isak’s nails on his skin and the heat of his mouth on his neck, the way he laughs, a bit breathlessly, and how he says his name.

It's not easy to ignore _that_.

  
———

  
He lets Sonja kiss him at that party, and it’s a mistake, but it’s just one kiss and nothing else, and Even is so confused and tired he barely cares anymore.

  
———

  
And maybe sometimes life really is like a movie. He said that, once.

When he runs into Isak in this stupid cafeteria, it’s like the world paused altogether — like a scene from a film nobody has made yet and never will. Even stops dead in his tracks and for one long second, there’s this feeling again, the one he’s felt before already, the one that threatens to crack his ribs with how intense it is.

”Hello,” he says, because if he dares to add anything more, he’ll tell Isak, ” _I’ve missed you,_ ” and ” _I’m sorry,_ ” and all the other things that burn in his throat.

”Hello,” Isak replies, and he can’t look Even in the face for longer than two seconds.

He looks tired. Paler, just a little, and… smaller somehow, as if someone caused the colors that make him up to fade a bit, and if Even was anyone else, he wouldn’t notice, but he does. Isak looks down, then back up, and it’s a nervous gesture.

So Even says… something, anything, whatever, the first thing that comes to his mind because he’s spent days and days trying to forget about this boy and it was all for nothing. He knows it now. It strikes him, just like that.

And Isak doesn’t ignore him, like Even feared he would — manages a laugh, even, but it’s weak and sounds a bit fake, takes visible effort to create. It's not something Even's used to.

 _You did this_ , he thinks to himself, and his throat feels tight.

And then Isak gives him a half-muttered, too quiet, ”I need to go,” rushes outside, and Even blinks, and when he opens his eyes again, the boy from a dream is gone.

  
———

  
He draws him a thing and puts it in his locker, and it’s a poor idea, but that’s all he has.

  
———

 

(It feels a little like slipping.

The world starts to get blurry around the edges just a tiny little bit, but sharper, too. Even feels lighter. It’s harder to fall asleep. It’s harder to focus on one thing without getting distracted by another. He’s restless.

His mind keeps working during the day, keeps working during the night, and it’s active and dynamic and swift.)

  
———

  
And the next thing he knows is that he’s standing on Isak’s doorstep, nervous and uneasy, and he hides his hands in his pockets because it helps, even if only slightly.

He doesn’t know what to say when Isak finally opens the door — there are so many thoughts in his head, and not enough, too, at the same time — so he only looks, feeling raw and lost and unsure, and then, suddenly, he doesn’t have to say anything at all.

Isak kisses him desperately, like it’s a fight he’s determined to win, pulls him in, weaves his fingers through Even’s hair and closes his eyes and whatever it was that was lurking in the back of Even’s mind, it’s lost.

So Even pushes Isak against a wall and kisses him breathless, bites on his skin, takes off his clothes and Isak’s eyes say, ” _It’s okay_ ,” and his ragged breathing says, ” _I missed you_ ,” and his roaming hands say, ” _Where have you been?_ ” and later, when Even pins Isak’s hips to the bed and Isak makes those quiet sounds in the back of his throat, Even gasps, ”You’re fucking gorgeous,” and Isak’s only response is pulling him into another kiss.

And if Even has to _pretend_ in order to have all this, he will.

  
———

  
He spends the next morning making Isak breakfast and talking to his flatmates and then making out with Isak in the kitchen because he’s _the man of his life_. Even feels so happy it’s surreal, and giggly and has so much energy, and the world is so bright and so vivid around him and he wonders, just for a second, how come he hasn’t ever really noticed that before.

They play video games all weekend, and make out sprawled on Isak’s bed, and laugh and joke and banter and let Isak’s flatmates take pictures of them together and Even gets to wear Isak’s clothes.

”I’m going to make a movie about you,” Even mutters into Isak’s neck in the afternoon, later, when it’s already dark outside and he’s never wanted the time to stop as badly as he does now.

”Yeah, I know,” Isak says, and Even doesn’t have to look him in the face to know that he’s rolling his eyes, but the smile in his voice is clearly audible, too. ” _The boy who couldn’t hold his breath underwater_ , very clever, you’ve said that already.”

Even shakes his head, a tiny movement, and feels Isak’s fingers tangle in his hair.

”No,” he breathes, because maybe it was a perfect fit just a couple of weeks ago, but right now isn’t. ”That’s not what it’s called anymore.”

”What’s the new title, then,” Isak asks, between one breath and the next, and gasps when Even sucks on his skin, just under his jaw.

 _The softest boy on Earth_ , he wants to say but doesn’t. _The boy who makes the world steady. The boy who leaves imprints._

  
———

  
It makes him feel dizzy, and dazed, and light-headed, everything that’s happening, and it’s good, so good Even can’t stop smiling and his chest feels so _full_.

He’s barely even home anymore, because why would he sit in one place doing nothing when he doesn’t even really sleep — or doesn’t feel the need to, anyway — and his parents know where he is, anyway, and everything he wants to do is to be with Isak, anyway. He wants to see him smile, wants to make him laugh, wants to meet his friends and hold his hand and spend all the time in the world around him, leave this city behind and forget the world, get a room in a hotel and close the door and just _be_ together.

There’s a mess of ideas in his head, but he’ll sort them out, quickly, and he’ll arrange them into patterns and then pick one and they’re gonna do it.

The time passes so fast — day by day, day by day.

He sees Isak in the cafeteria and draws him a heart on the glass and Isak smiles and then they go to a hotel, just like Even wanted, because why not, right? And Even tells the nice receptionist about them, about how gorgeous Isak is, and he wants to tell the whole world, everyone, not just her.

They get a room and as soon as the door closes behind them, Isak pulls Even in for a kiss, a little desperate already, and Even is so in love, so in love.

  
———

  
And then it all goes to hell.

  
———

  
The low comes with a crushing force, as usual, because he can only be high for so long, and suddenly Even is a mess of jumbled thoughts and blurred vision and heavy limbs. He’s at some hospital, at first, but only briefly because then he’s home and his room is dark and feels too big and his mother’s voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere afar.

Even breathes in, and his lungs feel too small.

He sleeps, and wakes up, and sleeps again and loses track of time somewhere between one thing and the other, between the curtains drawn and the subtle knocking on the door of his room and between his bedsheets and the haze in his mind.

He sleeps, and when he doesn’t, he counts the cracks on the ceiling and thinks about Isak.

Even wonders, in the back of his head, if there’s a universe somewhere out there where none of this happens. Where he’s okay, and he and Isak are just two boys messing around with each other. Where Even never lies, to Isak and to Sonja and to his parents, where he doesn’t have to take medication, where he becomes a director or a producer and makes movies about love.

And then he wonders why he’s still clinging to this idea of parallel universes in the first place, when it scares him so much.

He knew this was going to happen, is the thing. Even knew. Sonja knew, too, somehow. Everyone but Isak knew, and everyone could see, and Even never meant to drag anyone into this, but he did either way.

And guilt burns low in his stomach, shame and frustration are embers, and he’s just so fucking tired of it all.

  
———

  
Isak calls, some time later, and Even looks at the screen lit up, thinks about ” _stop texting me_ ,” and imagines Sonja telling Isak the truth and remembers the sight of Isak’s forced smile, and he declines the call.

It’s better like this, he tells himself, and knows it’s true, but he can’t remember the last time he felt so pathetic.

  
———

  
Isak deserves a closure, though. After everything that’s happened.

But Even… can’t face him. Can’t call him, or talk to him, or anything, because his chest feels so hollow it might collapse in on itself, almost, and it’s too much. He’ll leave Isak alone, like he should have a long time ago, because this is how their story has always been supposed to end.

Even is one of those people who do not get happy endings.

He puts his sweater on, and then his hoodie, and a jacket, layer after layer after layer because he feels like a fucking failure and doesn’t know any better way to guard himself from the world, and the thing is that he needs to get out. If he stays in his room just a minute longer this fucking safe space is going to smother him, so he tells his parents he needs fresh air, that he has his phone with him, and goes, just goes.

He sends Isak a text, in the end.

It takes him almost half an hour to write it, hidden in the school bathroom, tiles of the wall cold against his back, because that’s where it all started and it’s only fitting that this is where he puts an end to it. Maybe his life really is some kind of shitty, underfunded movie, because when he finishes, it’s almost _their hour_ , and he hates himself for thinking that, in a split second.

Even writes, ” _Dear Isak,_ ” and ” _I’m sorry,_ ” and ” _I was scared of losing you,_ ” and the words ” _I’m bipolar,_ ” make his head spin. He writes about a parallel universe where they’re together, in the end, a scenery from a dream because this is what he gets and that’s that.

He writes, ” _I love you,_ ” and it’s weird — how he’s thought about it so many times, repeated the words in his mind, had them on his tongue but never said them out loud.

Isak should know, though. Even owes him this.

  
———

  
And when he goes outside, Isak’s there.

He’s out of breath, with his jacket unzipped, and he looks a little panicked and a little alarmed, but Even’s the one who freezes when their eyes meet. There are questions in his mind, things he wants to say, all of a sudden — ”What are you doing here?” and ”Why did you come?” and ”I’m so fucking sorry,” — but he can’t say a word.

This is a dream. If he speaks, the dream will end.

Except that then something flickers in Isak’s eyes, and he approaches Even slowly but not cautiously. He’s not wary or scared, or unsure, Even thinks in the back of his mind, dazed. This is not fear. This doesn't _look_ like fear. It's asking for permission, he realizes, it's _relief_ , and the thought pushes all the air out of his lungs.

The touch on Even’s cheek is the same — slow, and gentle, and warm and real. This is Isak saying, ” _I know everything now,_ ” Even thinks, closing his eyes because this is too much. This is Isak saying, ” _Do you think we can work this out?_ ”.

Their lips brush and this — this is Isak saying, ” _Hello._ ”

  
———

  
Later, in Isak’s bed, in the dark where they can’t see each other at all, just breathe the same air and share the warmth of the covers, Isak whispers, his hands fisted into Even’s t-shirt, ”This universe is enough.”

Even stays silent, and if Isak knows he’s not asleep yet, he doesn’t call him out on it.

  
———

  
It doesn't feel that much easier with Isak around, but Even thinks that maybe it could, one day.

He sleeps a lot. He’s tired, and his body feels heavy, and he doesn’t really have a reason to get out of bed anyway. It doesn’t make much sense, what’s happening, because how could it? Even doesn’t get to have endings like this; this is not a familiar part — everything that’s happening at this point. He’s used to people leaving, not to people coming back. He’s used to changing surroundings, changing the strategy of coping, changing his medication, his school, friends. Even doesn’t have much experience when it comes to others  _staying_ in his life.

He’s going to fuck something up. Isak shouldn’t have come, yesterday.

But Isak says, ”Let’s play a game, okay?” and it’s barely a plan at all, but it’s not like Even has a better idea anyway, so he agrees quietly.

Isak kisses him then, and Even breathes in.

He can do minute by minute.

  
———

  
The weekend passes in a blur of sleep and quiet, Isak’s fingers in Even’s hair, low humming, soft fabrics of Isak’s clothes and comfort. It lifts the weight off Even’s chest, at least partially, and his lungs don’t feel as small anymore, and when he takes a breath, it’s easier.

On Monday, Isak gets up in the morning and leaves for school, pressing a kiss to Even’s temple as a goodbye.

He engages all his roommates in keeping an eye on Even, too, as it seems, and it’s not really difficult to notice. Eskild makes Even food and watches TV with him and gives him short anxious looks when he thinks Even isn’t paying attention. Noora makes him tea, and talks about her day, and lets him sleep and says, ” _Don’t worry about it!_ ” with a smile. Linn is very quiet until she isn’t and that’s a familiar thing, in a way, because she looks like maybe she could get him, actually.

And when Isak comes back home, he smiles, and that’s the smile — the same Even saw on the first day of school, in a different lifetime.

”How is it going?” Isak asks, and laces their fingers together, and maybe Isak is the softest boy in the world, Even thinks absently, but he can also be so damn strong when he needs to.

Even has forgotten about that.

  
———

  
And so, the days roll by.

The weight on his chest fades and fades until there’s nothing left of it. He starts to eat more and sleep less and feel like he fits into his skin again, at last. Plays video games with Linn and goes out with Isak and kisses him in his bed, listens to his breathing, and the dark dissipates.

On Friday, during the party — _Christmas party_ , because it’s this time of the year already and Even somehow missed the memo — he and Eskild hang a mistletoe above the door. Even smiles at Isak from across the room, then, and Isak smiles back.

When everyone goes home, much, much later, and Noora and Eskild go out of sight, Even drags Isak under it and kisses him breathless.

  
———

  
So sometimes Even’s mind feels like a mess. A gathering of random elements which don’t make sense at all.

He tells Isak that, once, when it’s late and dark and quiet.

And Isak blinks and his breath is warm on Even’s skin and after just a second he says, ”That’s okay,” and yeah. Maybe it really is.

If life is a movie, Even thinks, he could learn to like this one.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://slythaerinss.tumblr.com)


End file.
